Shock
by One Nutty Tree
Summary: Sorry for the unimaginative title. Not slash, not about falling either. My first attempt at a Sherlock fanfic so be gentle. Set after the cliffhanger ending of The Great Game but I've changed it a little.


Watson stood there, completely immobile and suitably scared considering the amount of explosives strapped to his chest. Sherlock still had his gun firmly aimed at Moriarty. The villain's smirk turned into a grimace as his "Staying Alive" ringtone went off. Holmes cocked an eyebrow and John was equally surprised. Moriarty took the call promptly.

"This had better be important." He mouthed an apology to his arch enemy and Sherlock returned with an 'oh yeah that's fine'. Moriarty turned away. "What? IF YOU DON'T HAVE IT –" Watson flinched at the sudden yell. "Good. I'll make you rich."

Moriarty walked out of the door waving at the snipers. The red dots hovering on both Holmes and Watson disappeared. John let out a sigh of relief. Sherlock darted towards him and started to remove the explosive jacket.

"Are you okay?" Watson said nothing. Sherlock threw the jacket onto the pool floor. "Are you okay?" he repeated more insistently.

"I'm fine." Watson said quietly. Holmes started to check over the room for any remaining snipers. "Sherlock – Sherlock?" Then the shock hit him and John sank against the wall. Finally his friend turned to him. "Why did he leave?"

"Someone changed his mind."

John put his head in his hands and breathed deeply.

"I'm not sure how much more of this I can take."

Sherlock's heart sank. He'd been afraid this would happen. Watson was his only friend, he'd always been a little worried about driving him away, although that hadn't changed his habits.

"What?" he said simply.

"I hope no one saw that, you whisking my clothes off in an abandoned swimming pool. People might start to talk." Watson smiled, looking up.

Sherlock chuckled. Phew. All the same, Watson's face was a pale white.

"Are you –"

"I'm fine. It's just shock."

"You're sweating."

"Am I?"

Sherlock frowned.

"Let's go."

"Can we just stay here for a bit?" asked John, he felt like he needed a few minutes to recollect himself.

"Where my latest arch enemy just tried to brutally kill us in an attempt to make me keep quiet?" Holmes asked sceptically.

"Well –" Watson began.

"God it feels good to have a proper arch enemy! Okay we'll stay."

"Actually maybe we should go." Watson said, slightly unnerved by Sherlock's summary. He massaged his temples as he spoke. The detective looked slightly put out at his friend's change of heart but said nothing. John slowly got to his feet and staggered towards Holmes. "Time for a cab."

It didn't take them long to find one. It appeared that Mycroft wanted to talk to John anyways. The usual henchwoman greeted him but this time round Holmes decided to accompany his friend to his brother's home. Sherlock kept a watchful eye on Watson who said nothing for the entire journey there. Now he knew just how easily John could be made a hostage he wanted to stay with him for a while. Just in case.

Watson found Mycroft waiting for him in the usual study.

"What do you want this time?" John asked wearily.

"Just curious of my brother's progress with the missile plans."

John sighed. This could take some explaining.

"You know you could have called me."

"You weren't answering your phone."

"That's because he was busy being kidnapped at the time." cut in Sherlock emerging from the shadows of the study.

Mycroft looked more surprised at his brother's appearance than Watson's kidnapping. After all, the latter was inevitable.

"What happened with the missile plans?"

"They're lying at the bottom of a swimming pool." Sherlock noted his brother's expression. "Oh don't worry they're completely useless now."

"All the same I would like to have them in my possession."

"Well I don't know what use a soggy memory stick will be but if you really must send your men to this address." said Sherlock giving Mycroft a piece of paper. "Now if you'll excuse me and my colleague we-"

"Sherlock?" John interrupted.

"What?" the detective replied, but with one quick glance at his companion he already understood the problem.

Beads of sweat trickled down Watson's forehead, he was shaking and the waver in his voice indicated that he was afraid. He also appeared to be scratching his arm quite persistently.

"I don't feel very well –" John muttered.

"Obviously."

Sherlock pulled up a chair behind his friend just as John's legs buckled.

"This can't be shock –" the doctor said as he fell back onto the seat.

Sherlock looked down at his friend. John could tell that he was analysing him, it was the same look he used on all of their clients.

"No – it's more than that."

"Can we just go home?"

"Show me your left arm." Sherlock instructed.

"What?"

"Show me!"

Watson pulled up his sleeve and was shocked to find a small hole in his arm, big enough for a needle. It was still bleeding. Typical that it was on the same arm he'd been shot in.

"What?" John gasped.

"He's injected something into you. John you're a medical man, do you have any idea what?"

It was difficult for the doctor to think, let alone talk.

"I – I don't know –"

"Okay keep calm and preferably quiet, you're disrupting my thought process."

Sherlock ran his finger over the bleeding spot. John winced. The detective held up his finger and sniffed the blood on it. Mycroft, who'd been watching from his desk, decided he should say something.

"Sherlock I can get my men to take him to hospital –"

"That won't be necessary, I know this poison."

"Then let professionals deal with it."

Sherlock turned to face Mycroft.

"I _am _a professional."

Mycroft analysed his brother's expression: confidence, determination and a hidden desperation mingled on Sherlock's face. Mycroft sighed.

"What do you need?"

"Transport."

"Cab?"

"Not fast enough, John's dying, every minute counts."

"Dying?" spluttered the doctor.

"I'll see what I can do." said Mycroft.

"NO." Sherlock roared. He stared his brother down angrily. "You will _do _what you can do."

Mycroft sighed and nodded before hurrying away.

"Sherlock?" gasped John, he was shaking more violently now.

Holmes couldn't tell whether it was the poison taking effect or the shock. At this point either was deadly. Sherlock crouched so he was level with his friend and prayed that he wouldn't have to resort to tact to see this through.

"Stay calm." he instructed.

"It must be bad – if you're angry – enough to – oh I think I'm going to be sick –"

Sherlock quickly retreated as John threw up on Mycroft's shiny marble floor. It was at this unfortunate moment that his brother returned.

"It took several phone calls but I've got you a –" Mycroft paused to scan the new mess on the floor and the green faced doctor Watson.

"Sorry." John groaned.

Mycroft let out an irritated sigh.

"This way."

They made it to 221b Baker Street in good time. In fact they made quite an entrance, but John was barely conscious. Sherlock dragged him up the steps and Mrs Hudson opened the door.

"Hello boys! Oh John you don't look too well – what's that bloody helicopter doing?" she exclaimed all at once.

Sherlock stepped inside and slammed the door shut.

"Time for pleasantries later Mrs Hudson, now help me get him upstairs."

Together the old lady and the young detective put an arm each around Watson and helped him make it upstairs. Mrs Hudson took him to his bed whilst Sherlock frantically skimmed through the many chemicals in the fridge. Not there. He cursed and started to sweep through the mess on the table.

"Sherlock?"

"One minute Mrs Hudson!" he called before muttering under his breath, "Where is it?"

Holmes closed his eyes and tried to remember where he'd put it. The day seemed to reverse and before his eyes the murder mysteries Moriarty had presented him went backwards. But where was – ah! He opened his eyes, grabbed a test tube on the window sill and raced into John's bedroom.

"He's looking rather peaky." Mrs Hudson informed him.

"Well of course he is he's been poisoned!" Sherlock snapped. "Drink this John."

John opened his eyes wearily and examined the murky purple liquid in front of him.

"I am not – drinking – that." he murmured.

"John it will save your life." No response. "It'll be another injection otherwise."

Watson reluctantly opened his mouth and let the substance trickle down his throat. Mrs Hudson and Sherlock waited in a tense silence as they watched John. Finally he gathered enough strength to speak.

"I don't believe you made me drink one of your experiments." he muttered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

A low, rumbling chuckle came from the baritone.

"Some tea Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock asked.

"Just this once. I'm not your housekeeper!" she said as she made her way to the kitchen.

"How did you –" Watson began.

"Get the cure? It was easy enough. Due to the lack of cases lately I started to conduct experiments on venom. I was trying to make the ultimate anti-venom –"

John sat up abruptly at this news and swayed slightly.

"Did you even know if it would work?" he asked in an alarmed voice.

"I think it's worked quite nicely. Do tell me if you start to feel any side-effects."

"Other than irritation, no." For a moment they sat in silence, then they smiled at each other. "Thank you Sherlock."

"I'd be lost without my blogger."

At this point Mrs Hudson returned with two cups of tea.

"Here you go boys."

"Ta." thanked John.

Sherlock simply accepted his.

"I should get back to my cooking. Get some rest John."

And with that the landlady left. For a while the two men sat in silence, both thinking deeply.

"Why would Moriarty poison –" John started.

"To show us what he can do."

"But you beat him."

"Yes John, but the question is: did he let me?"


End file.
